Dismantle Repair
by cmaddict
Summary: Post Pay Up, MacStella. Hands like secrets were the hardest thing to keep from her.
1. You Dismantle Me

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters are the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer. I'm a poor college student; please don't sue.

**Notes**: This story was inspired by the song "Dismantle. Repair." by Anberlin, so I've tried to inject lines from that song into this story. Other than that, I have no clue where this came from. It's probably the most amount of angst I've ever written, but I hope I've stayed true to the characters, and I really hope you all enjoy it. It's a three-chapter story, and the rating is probably going to go up soon. Please, as always, tell me what you think about it... I'm really worried about it, and you'll find out why in coming chapters. I know it's a lot of angst right now, but it'll get better.

**Many, many **thanks to Lily for reading over this for me and helping to alleviate some of my worries. I appreciate your input more than I could ever adequately say.

**You Dismantle Me**

It began innocently enough.

Greece changed them. That much he could admit. Watching her clutch the professor's dead body, mourning both his death and the death of the mother she never knew nearly broke his heart. He'd gathered her into his arms, holding her as she sobbed, her tears soaking through his thin t-shirt. Somewhere in that short moment, with his arms wrapped around her thin waist and her breath whispering across his neck, he'd realized that his feelings for her weren't the same as they'd been so many years ago. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that they would never go back.

But he brutally shoved them aside as soon as they returned. Things were just as they should be between them, just as they'd always been. Nothing more than friendship, nothing less. It was how it had been for over ten years, and it was how they needed to stay.

Then Jessica died, and they worked tirelessly for more than twelve hours, hunting down those four men who'd brought shame to the uniform they once wore. She labored right by his side, a constant encouragement to him. And when it was all over, the smile on her face and the tender kiss to his cheek made the exhaustion disappear. She was part of why he decided to go to the bar in the first place. Little did he know that a few moments after his arrival, glass would rain down on them, bullets would whiz by his ears, and screams would echo in his memory.

She was the first person he looked for when the glass settled and the explosions ceased. She was lying face down on the floor, and for a moment his heart ceased to beat, afraid that Death had claimed her too. In that seemingly eternal moment, the memory of watching the towers fall with the knowledge that Claire was inside reared its horrible head, and it shattered him. He couldn't lose someone he cared for again. But then she raised her head and her jade-green eyes locked with his, and he knew she was alive. He wasn't prepared for the intensity of the feelings that washed over him – relief, anger, fear. Part of him wanted to scoop her up in his arms, to profess undying love for her, to keep her by his side for the rest of their days. But the other part of him balked, confused. He was her best friend, her boss. He wasn't allowed to feel that way for her - those were the rules, and he always kept the rules.

However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stay away.

So it started with a bite to eat after work. Great little out-of-the-way places that she'd discovered over the years. Just the two of them in a booth, far away from the horrors of the world, drawing comfort from one another, dim light causing the dark curls framing her beautiful face to shine. They talked about anything and everything until the wee hours of the morning when she would finally start drifting off to sleep and he would finally say, "Let's call it a night." Then he would carefully drive her to her side of town and usher her up the stairs to her apartment. And she would always gently brush her lips against his cheek, lingering just enough for heat to rush throughout his entire body, and whisper, "Good night, Mac." Long after her apartment door closed, he stood looking at it, lost in the emotions such a simple gesture caused.

But soon even that wasn't enough.

He would find excuses to go to her place, giving her something that she'd forgotten or bringing over a movie he wanted her to see. And every time, she would laugh and make him the best Irish coffee he'd ever had. Standing in the kitchen with her, listening to the coffee pot percolating and the wonderful bitter scent of the brew waft through her apartment, she regaled him with stories from her youth, telling him about pranks pulled on the nuns at the orphanage. Again he marveled at her strength, her eternal optimism that somehow managed to find the good in every situation.

Coffee mugs in hand, they adjourned to her couch for whatever film he brought by. She always sat next to him, her long legs curled up under her, gaze glued to the screen. His gaze never wavered from her. He took the time to study her features: her caramel curls, her wonderfully high cheekbones, the strong line of her jaw. She was exotically beautiful, he thought, not the type of beauty Hollywood saw but gorgeous nonetheless.

Invariably, though, she would doze off halfway through the movie, breaking into his thoughts. Every time she did, he would pull her toward him, pillowing her head on his shoulder. A soft sigh would escape her, tickling the skin at his neck and sending a shiver down his spine. He could smell her shampoo, that sweet scent of coconut and summer.

No matter how hard he tried to fight it, he fell a little more for her.

He could admit it to himself, in the privacy of his own home when the memory of her in his arms made him ache with desire and the phantom touch of her lips sent shockwaves through his body. But admitting it to _her_... that was something entirely different. He'd faced down countless enemies, braving gunfire and explosions more times than he could remember. He was Mac Taylor, the stoic head of the crime lab in the largest city in the United States. He'd looked criminals in the eye with nary a blink.

The thought of facing _her_, of drowning in _her_ gaze sent him running as fast and as far as he could.

Darkness descended like a black canopy. The summer heat was stifling, steam rising from the hot asphalt to the steel girders of the city's infrastructure. Humid air circulated the smells of car exhaust and grime down each street and alley. Though the sun had long since vanished beyond the western horizon, the temperature hadn't adjusted a bit. Not a leaf rustled in the stillness of the evening.

Mac groaned as he rubbed his eyes wearily. It had been a difficult shift. A woman had been murdered the previous night, left in an alley like last week's garbage. Though they'd processed and interviewed and researched for hours, they were trapped at a dead end.

He glanced at the clock on his desk. 7:44. It was Stella's day off, and he'd felt her absence since he first arrived at the lab, the hole that she filled weighing down on him. He missed her smile, her laugh, the way she teased him endlessly. It wasn't too late. She was probably still awake.

Before he'd even realized it, he was standing outside her apartment door, hand poised to knock. For a moment, he stopped. He had no excuse to see her; she hadn't forgotten anything, and he didn't even bother to stop by the video store and rent a movie. What would he say? What if she wasn't alone? She hadn't mentioned anyone, but he didn't know if she dated. What if...?

_Stop it_, he commanded himself. He rapped softly on the door and stepped back. Straining to listen, he could hear someone moving around and then the distinct clang of the chain sliding back. Suddenly the door flew open, and he stepped back again, startled.

She stood in the doorway, barefoot and clad in a pair of faded blue jeans and an old Mets shirt. Her curly mane fell softly over her shoulders, glowing caramel in the low light from her living room. Her green eyes sparkled with a mixture of happiness and curiosity. "Well, this is a surprise," she said, a hint of a smile appearing on the corners of her mouth.

"I... I was just in the neighborhood," he replied lamely, and though her eyebrow arched delicately, she said nothing. "Mind if I come in?"

The quirk at the corner of her mouth blossomed into a full-fledged grin, and she silently stepped aside.

He crossed the threshold into her apartment, just like he had thousands of other times. The television in the living room displayed some movie that he vaguely recognized, and a single wine glass rested on the coffee table. Good. She was alone.

"Want some coffee or something?" Her voice broke the comfortable silence, and when he looked up, he saw her standing in the kitchen by the counter.

"Sure," he answered with a smile.

She turned back to the counter and reached for the coffee can she kept nearby to feed her caffeine addiction. With practiced ease, she scooped some into a filter and fit it into the top of the maker. "How was work?" she asked.

He sighed. "Same old stuff. Found a murdered woman in an alley this morning. No leads so far and Sinclair's on my back."

"And you're frustrated." It was a statement rather than a query, and his lips stretched into a thin smile. She knew him too well.

"Yeah. And tired, I guess."

Stella chuckled, her back still toward him. "So you come over here for coffee. Makes perfect sense."

He grinned and shook his head. "I thought it did."

She turned to look at him, her gaze locking with his again. There was something behind it that he had never seen from her before, and his smile slowly faded from his lips. Something was bothering her. "What does the evidence say?" she asked, turning back to the percolating pot.

"Nothing conclusive so far," he replied. "DNA on her body, no hits in CODIS. Some sort of flora at the scene. Came back to a kind of lily available everywhere this time of year."

"That's it?"

He nodded. "The worst part is I talked to her husband earlier this afternoon. Nicest guy you'd ever meet. I could hear his two-year-old son in the background, playing. All he asked was that we catch this guy."

She turned to him, that unreadable expression in her eyes. He could always read her, and the fact that he couldn't now frightened him. "You will, Mac. You always do. You'll take a fresh look at it in the morning, and you'll catch him."

He leaned against the counter, watching her as she reached up into the cabinet for a mug. She always knew what to say. Even in his darkest hour, she always knew how to make him feel better. Why? How?

Silence settled over them, broken only by the growl of thunder in the distance. A summer thunderstorm was blowing in, bringing much needed rain to the steaming city. He watched her movements around the kitchen, that solemn slump of her shoulders. Something was definitely bothering her.

Stella turned to face him again, those jade-colored eyes locking with his. He could almost see the wheels of her mind grinding. After a long moment, the coffee pot dinged loudly, and she turned her back to him again. "You know, I'm glad you stopped by, Mac," she said softly. "I've been thinking, and I think we need to talk."

His brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what that meant, but in his experience with women, that was never a good thing.

"We've..." she began, not turning around. She released a frustrated sigh, brushing back a stray curl that had fallen into her eyes. "We've been spending a lot of time together, haven't we?"

Mac frowned. "We're friends and colleagues, Stella. It makes sense that we'd spend a lot of time together."

"But it's different, now, isn't it?" Finally she spun around to face him, leaning against the counter. For once, he couldn't read her expression. "It's not the same as it used to be."

"What are you trying to say, Stel?"

"I - I mean, we -" She stopped again mid-sentence, frustration evident in her gaze. He wasn't sure where this discussion was leading, but whatever it was had her extremely flustered. He'd never really seen Stella Bonasera flustered.

Finally she growled and threw up her hands. "How long are we gonna do this dance, Mac?"

Now he was really confused. "Dance?"

"Yeah. Dance. This 'are we friends or more than friends' tango we've been doing for the last six years. I can't pretend that I don't have feelings for you anymore, Mac. Not after everything we've been through in the last six months. Not after Thessaloniki, after Jess."

Her words took him completely by surprise. She was confessing her feelings for him? What feelings? When had that happened? She had feelings for him?

"Feelings?" he asked, his voice sounding like a croak to his ears. She nodded, almost shyly. "What kind of feelings?"

She shrugged one thin shoulder. "Feelings. I guess you could say… well, _romantic_ feelings. Dating and stuff."

It wasn't like he hadn't thought of it before. God, she was a beautiful, smart, funny, compassionate woman; his best friend. Visions of them together had often plagued him, especially in the last six months.

But his emotions still confused him. He'd wanted to wait until he'd sorted out what he should do. But now that she'd brought it up and it was in the open, how was he supposed to handle it?

"Stella..."

"Just answer one question for me, Mac." She took a step closer to him, green eyes smoldering. His gaze locked with hers, and he couldn't move. She held him captive, just like she always had. "Do you have feelings for me? _Romantic_ feelings?"

He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. His mind whirled uncontrollably.

Did he have feelings for her? Absolutely. But it was so much more complicated than that.

"Stella, I had the power to overlook Danny and Lindsay. But if this gets out, I won't be able to do anything about it. You know Sinclair's been out to get me since he made chief of detectives."

"Sinclair can go to hell," she said firmly, and he wanted to laugh, but knowing that she'd probably kill him, he bit the inside of his cheek. "You didn't answer my question. Do you have feelings for me?"

Staring into her eyes, he didn't know how to respond. It had been years since he'd felt this strongly for someone other than Claire. But she was his best friend, his confidant. She was the woman in his life, and he wasn't sure he trusted himself enough to be something more to her. Beneath that strong exterior was a fragile heart, and he didn't want to hurt her. And if this got out, he couldn't protect her like he could Danny and Lindsay. It would ruin her reputation.

Glancing away from her, he took a deep breath and said with all the strength he could muster, "No."

The silence that settled over them was as suppressive as the summer heat. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, afraid that if he did, she would see that he lied.

"Liar."

The cold tone of her voice snapped his head up, and he stared at her in shock. Her eyes blazed with hurt, so much that it cut him deeper than any knife ever could. "Stella..."

"Don't give me excuses, Mac. Don't tell me it's Sinclair or the lab. You're afraid to let yourself love again, and you know it." Her voice shook, and he could see her struggle to control her emotion.

"Stella, I'm…" he started to apologize, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"Mac, the last six months have been some of the happiest in my life, and I know it's been the same for you. You've smiled and laughed more, and it was like the old Mac was slowly coming back. I thought that maybe since you were treating me like that, you'd decided it was time to move on, that you could summon up the courage to love again. But I guess I was wrong. You led me on, and that hurts."

Her words slowly sunk in, and his chest started to ache. He wanted so desperately to tell her everything, but nothing coherent would come. _Now's your chance, you idiot_, his heart shouted at him, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

He shook his head slowly and stepped forward. "Stel, I didn't mean –"

"It's okay, Mac. I understand. It's my fault, really. For falling for an emotionally unavailable man."

His jaw dropped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was _Stella_, for God's sake. But he just couldn't. It was all too confusing, too sudden, too complex, too wonderful for him to comprehend.

She turned around, her back to him. "Please just go."

The next thing he knew, a loud slam reverberated through the hallway, leaving him to stare incredulously at her closed door. He couldn't believe it. He could still hear her voice echoing in his mind, and the ache in his chest intensified.

_Falling for an emotionally unavailable man_.

_Liar_.

Her words slashed through him like a blade. Numb, he turned toward the elevator and almost robotically pressed the button for the ground floor. He felt like he'd been ripped apart, piece by piece by damn piece.

She'd dismantled him. God, she'd completely taken him apart.

Outside, it felt like a steaming wet blanket had been draped over the city, stealing the very breath from his lungs. The smells of car exhaust and old trash assaulted his nostrils. He felt sick to his stomach, though he wasn't sure if it was from her words or the heat. Slowly he turned down the street and started walking. He didn't know where, and honestly he didn't care. He had to go somewhere to think, somewhere to figure all of this out.

Was she right? Was he emotionally unavailable?

It wasn't like he didn't care for her. He would risk life and limb for her if he had to. When Frankie had attacked her, he learned the new meaning of the expression 'seeing red'. If that bastard hadn't already been dead, he would've killed him. No one hurt Stella and got away with it. No one.

And he'd told her he cared for her. Several times, in fact, when they were in Thessaloniki. He did care for her, immensely. More so than anyone else in the world.

She made hellish day after hellish day worth living. When he was frustrated with a case or with the administration, she somehow knew the perfect thing to say to make him feel better. She made him laugh with her notoriously smart-aleck comebacks. She was strong, tough, independent. But her tough exterior hid a heart of compassion and tenderness. She sacrificed so much to take care of him and the rest of the team, to the extent that she would often forget to take care of herself.

So what was his problem?

He raked a hand through his hair. Here was the one woman he'd really loved since Claire, and he'd just told her that he didn't have feelings for her. And the truth was that his feelings for her were all he could ever think about.

He was a coward.

Such a thought stopped him dead in his tracks, as if he'd run straight into a brick wall.

But it was true.

Mac Taylor, Marine and detective and crime scene investigator, was afraid of her. Though he'd looked into the eyes of serial killers and terrorists, he was afraid of the way she made him feel.

He was afraid of _needing_ her, and need her he certainly did.

He needed her smile. He needed her comforting touch in the midst of the turmoil of his job. He needed her sharp mind on difficult cases. He needed her humor in dark situations, that quick wit that instantly made everyone around her feel at home. He needed her tough outer shell to push him through hard times, and he needed her compassionate soul to encourage him.

She'd broken through the walls he'd erected around his emotions and brought him back.

And _that_ was really what he was afraid of. Needing her meant he had to feel again, and that opened him up to a world of hurt. He'd succumbed to his emotions once before and ended up with a broken heart.

The problem was his heart felt like it was already breaking. And he knew it would stay that way as long as he was without her.

That hurt look on her face flashed before his eyes, and he cringed. He'd wounded her, and he knew it. God, he was such a _hypocrite_. For a man who didn't want to hurt her, he'd broken that fragile heart with a lie.

Thunder cracked loudly, and he looked up at the sky. The vast expanse suddenly opened its floodgates, and rain poured down to the hot asphalt in sheets. Steam rose from the concrete and steel exoskeleton of the city, washing the horrid scents of the city away. It soaked through his shirt and streamed down his face, bathing him in cool water. Keeping his face lifted to the sky, he inhaled deeply. The dull ache in his chest eased a little.

Could he change? Could he become that man?

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. He wanted to have the courage to tell her that he loved her, that he couldn't take another night without her. In his heart of hearts, he wanted to need her touch, her smile, her face. He wanted to stop running, stop trying to escape her. Maybe in giving up was redemption.

He certainly hoped so. Because she had dismantled him, and no one else on earth could put him back together.

But the question lingered: _Would_ she?


	2. Save Me from Myself

**A/N:** Oh my gosh, I am so sorry this is so late. I've been trying to update all weekend, but the document thingy wasn't working and I was getting very frustrated. To make up for it, I'm going to try to post the final chapter tomorrow. Thank you all for such great reviews; you're all awesome! Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

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**Save Me from Myself**

Stella leaned against the door jam, listening to the soft, fading thud of his footsteps as he walked away. Through the heavy wooden door, she could hear the elevator announce its arrival with a loud _ding_. And then all was silent, except for the occasional rumble of thunder.

Her throat tightened. She was completely, utterly alone.

She tried to tell herself that it was okay. She'd been alone most of her life, except for a few instances here and there where she had someone else. Being alone was perfectly normal for her. It made her who she was: that tough, fiercely independent woman who could somehow get through a psychotic boyfriend, an AIDS scare, a stalker, and a fire.

It was better to be alone, she told herself. She didn't have to rely on anyone. She could muddle through on her own. She always had, and she always would.

Wasn't this usually what happened whenever she decided that she didn't want to be alone? In high school, boys knew she was a foster child, an orphan with no family of any kind. They didn't want to be with someone like that. No one asked her to her senior prom, because no one wanted to pick her up at St. Basil's Orphanage. But that was okay with her. She didn't want someone who couldn't look past her family situation. So she learned how to care for herself and the other children at the orphanage. Looking after them was how she coped.

With Frankie, she thought that she'd finally found someone who could love her for the way she was, even with all the baggage that being an orphan and a CSI brought. She'd had fun with him, real fun for the first time in a long time. Though he was fantastic in bed - which was always a plus - he listened to her and took an interest in her interests. And then he'd betrayed her trust, violated her in the worst possible way. Her fantasy had become a nightmare, and she lived and relived that nightmare hundreds of thousands of times in her dreams after.

And then there was Drew. Though she'd had reservations about him from the beginning, the idea of being wanted flattered her. His constant albeit weird gifts made her feel something she hadn't felt in a while. They made her feel special. When she'd discovered he was Mac's stalker, she felt used again. Being used hurt, despite the lack of attraction there. But she'd steeled herself and kept going, just like she always had in the past.

Yet she couldn't deny that through it all was Mac.

He'd been the constant in her life for the last ten years. After Frankie attacked her, his was the first face she saw upon waking up. That concerned expression in his eyes had plagued her dreams for days after that, but she felt loved because someone was worried about her. It hadn't happened often in her life. When she thought she could've contracted AIDS, she told him first. He wrapped an arm around her and told her that she was strong enough to pull through this. When she stood in the blackened skeleton that had been her apartment, he brought her coffee, hugged her, and offered her a place to stay. And though they'd fought like cats and dogs, he still got on a plane and flew halfway around the world to bring her home.

And every time he was there for her, she fell a little more for him. They were Mac and Stella, two people who understood each other so well they finished each other's sentences. He was the rational balance to her emotional impulses, and she was the heart that he rarely let out of his chest. They were equals in everything. For a while she was content to be his friend, to give him time. But things changed when they went to Greece. The feel of his arms around her in that empty Grecian field haunted her for days. _So this is what it's like to feel safe_, she'd thought, and for a moment, she froze. Safe? When did she ever start needing to be safe? She'd never needed it before. She could take care of herself.

But there was something in her that didn't want to be so self-sufficient any more.

A loud clap of thunder snapped the silence, and drops of rain splashed against her window, few and far between for a moment, then transforming into a downpour. Running a hand through her tangled curls, Stella sank into the plush cushion of the couch. Even the couch held his scent, that spicy and seductive smell of man. He was the only man she ever allowed into her apartment, and he'd been there more times in the last six months than in the other nine years of their friendship put together. God, his smell fueled her fantasies for days, assaulting her senses and making her ache for his touch. She'd imagine his hands running down her body, holding her as he rocked her into ecstasy, whispering promises of forever into her ear. But then morning after morning arrived, and though the emotions were still there, he wasn't and her heart sank every time. But she couldn't bring herself to separate from him. He was the only man she'd ever fully trusted, because he was Mac.

Had she possibly misread the signs? The way that his arm draped around her while she dozed on his shoulder, those furtive glances when he thought she wasn't looking, the long conversations about everything and nothing. And she knew that the excuses he gave whenever he stopped by her apartment were completely fabricated. Bringing her a jacket she didn't really need in the middle of June pushed the confines of logic.

No, she decided. She couldn't have misconstrued him. He'd lied to her, and she knew it.

His denial shattered her heart. She hadn't meant to be so direct with him, but she could read him like a book. And that lie hurt more than anything else that she had ever endured. So she'd snapped and told him just what she thought about him. That shocked look on his face while she gave him a verbal lashing burned into her mind's eye.

Oh, why had she ever said something to him about the way she'd been feeling? The concept of love frightened him. It always had, ever since Claire died. She knew he was afraid to love again, and she pushed him into a decision. But the last six months had made her so happy. She tried with every ounce of strength she possessed to stamp out the embers of desire she felt for him every time he wrapped his arm around her or looked at her with those stormy blue eyes. She could have just let it go, continued being his friend until he was ready. She'd handled it for the last ten years; surely she could've kept it up.

She hated living a charade though. And that was what it was: merely an act. She'd always been good at pretending; she'd had a lifetime of practice. When it came to Mac, however, she found she couldn't pretend any longer. She couldn't take the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever that door shut behind him at the end of a night together. She couldn't take the constant wondering, the endless pining of a woman in love with a man who wouldn't love her back.

And now she couldn't help but feel that she'd ruined their friendship forever. There could be no going back to normal now.

Rain pounded against her windows, and she sighed, feeling a tear spring up in the corner of her eye. She couldn't remember the last time her heart felt this broken, this wounded, as if a stake had been driven into it and twisted sadistically until it could be twisted no more.

A sudden, soft tapping at her door pricked her ears. She glanced toward the noise and frowned. Who could possibly be coming by at this hour?

Stella released a sigh and reluctantly rose from the couch. She quickly crossed the room and, without even bothering to check the peephole, unhooked the chain and pulled open the door.

And her jaw dropped.

Mac stood before her, dress shirt soaked through and dark hair dripping with rain water. A tentative, almost shy look appeared in those gray-blue eyes of his, and the expression on his face reminded her of a small boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar before supper. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment, unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

Finally she cleared her throat and folded her arms across her chest. "You're soaked," she pointed out.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah. I guess I am."

Their eyes locked again, and she remembered how easy it was to get lost in those depths. After another long silence, she sighed. "You'd better come in and get dried off. Before you catch cold."

With those words, she spun on her heel and, without looking back, marched toward the linen closet where she kept her spare towels. As she reached for one, her mind whirled. What was he doing there? A small sliver of hope welled up in her chest, hope that maybe he'd returned to apologize and ask for her back. But she immediately shook her head, dismissing that thought. This wasn't her night for hope.

Towel in hand, she reentered the living room, finding him standing before the window, gazing out at the rain. Apparently hearing her come in, he turned around. The corner of his mouth turned up into a half-smile. "Thanks, Stella."

She returned his smile. God, what was it about him that made her melt when she saw him? "It's what friends do."

Mac stopped toweling his hair dry at her words, and his smile faded, replaced by something she couldn't decipher. "I haven't been much of a friend today, have I?"

She let his words hang in the air between them as a tense stillness settled over them again, broken only by the pitter-patter of rain against her window. Getting caught in the rain wasn't the only reason he'd returned to her doorstep. She knew that much. But she also knew it was best just to let him talk, to not push him.

"After I left, I started thinking about what you said."

"Mac, I'm sorry," she interrupted. "I was angry, and I shouldn't have been so harsh."

"You were being honest," he replied gently. "And that's more than I was."

"I pushed you into a decision. And that was wrong of me. I should've let you take your own time."

He shook his head. "If it was the truth, you should've told me. I've been taking far too much time."

An eyebrow rose curiously, but she said nothing.

"When I left, I did some serious thinking. And I decided that maybe it's time I start being honest with you, because that's what friends do. So I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen. Okay?"

All she could do was nod. Struck dumb by his words, she couldn't have said anything even if she wanted to. So she sat down on the arm of the couch, and he leaned against the wall opposite her.

"I know you didn't want any promises, just my honesty. And you were right. I lied to you."

His confession didn't come as much of a surprise, and from the look on his face, he knew she already knew.

"I'm a coward, Stel," he admitted softly. Her eyes widened. Mac, decorated Marine and highly commended detective, was admitting fear? Was he afraid of her?

"I'm afraid of letting people in, because letting people in opens me up to pain. I was afraid of hurting you, because I tend to balk at the thought of intimacy and I'm not good at relationships. I was afraid of ruining our friendship, because you mean everything to me."

Mac paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Thunder growled low and deep from outside, and lightning flashed across the dark night sky. Slowly she absorbed his words. He meant everything to her too, and so much more.

"So I lied to you, to try to escape the way you made me feel. I've always been afraid of change, and to change the way I did for you caught me off guard. I thought that by acting oblivious, things could stay the same between us. But I knew that we'd gotten to that point of deciding where to go from here, and I couldn't handle it. I was afraid of hurting you."

She shook her head. They were alike in so many ways, both so afraid of being hurt that they shut others out. But he was _Mac._ "You could never hurt me, Mac."

"But I did. I did, and I saw it on your face, and I never want to see it again."

Stella took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. "I trust you. I trust you with my life, with my heart, with everything I have. I wish you could see what I see in you."

"What do you see in me?"

Silence settled over them for a long, tense moment. His eyes locked with hers again, and she felt her chest tighten. Maintaining a level gaze, she said softly, "I see a man who has a great capacity for love if he would let his heart out of his chest every once in a while, who is so afraid of messing something up that he won't take a risk. The thing is you don't give yourself enough credit. You're the most fiercely loyal, caring person I know, and you're too… well, _you_ to ever hurt me on purpose."

She paused meaningfully, letting the truth shine through her gaze. "Sometimes, Mac, the greatest risks have the greatest rewards."

The depth of feeling and emotions in that intense gaze startled her. She'd never seen that look from him before, and it rocked her to her core. Determination, remorse, and passion burned in those irises.

"I don't place my faith in something that doesn't deserve it, Mac. There's no one else on earth I trust more. With my life, with my heart, with everything. I wish you could trust yourself."

He pushed himself off the wall and started walking toward her. She was frozen in place, entranced by that expression in his eyes, her heart beating faster and faster until she thought it would explode.

"I can't promise I won't have reservations about us, about our place in the lab and how a relationship affects that. I can't promise I won't balk, because I've never felt this strongly about another person, and it frightens me. But your touch is all I've been thinking about for the last six months. The picture of you and I together drives me insane. I don't want to just give us a chance, because I know that I want this to work. I want to be that man for you."

By now he was less than three feet from her, and she thought her heart would break out of her ribcage. She thought she was dreaming, because words she'd never expected to hear were streaming out of his mouth.

His calloused hands on hers immediately dispelled that idea. One finger tipped up her chin so that their gazes connected once more.

"I'm sorry, Stel," he whispered. "I'm sorry I caused you so much pain. But I want this. I want _you_. I'm willing to try to be that man you want me to be, because I _need _you. God, I need you so much."

She searched his eyes for a moment, reading the fierce sincerity in them. She believed him when he said he wanted her, and it made her heart soar.

But their earlier conversation came flooding back to her, and uncertainty welled up within her. It was so much so fast. "I believe you, Mac," she murmured. "I do. And I would be lying if I said I didn't want you too. But…"

Quickly he placed a finger on her mouth, shushing her. He shook his head and cupped her face with both hands. His thumbs gently stroked her cheekbones. "Give me time to prove to you that I want everything you have to offer, and I'll give you everything I have. Every damaged, dismantled piece of me. Because I love you, and you're the only hope I have of ever being repaired."

Those words shattered her, and yet it was such a blissful feeling. He loved her. She could see it in his eyes, in the embers of hope there. She'd waited ten years to hear those words from him.

But his lips were on hers before she had time to dissect that thought, and immediately it was gone, replaced by the smell and the feel of Mac. His lips danced over hers, gentle and tentative, and she closed her eyes, letting herself melt into his embrace. Her hands fisted in the damp fabric of his shirt as his slid into her hair, combing through her curls.

Suddenly she felt his tongue sneak out of its confines, brushing against her lips shyly before becoming even more insistent. She couldn't stop the sigh from bubbling up in her throat, and his tongue slipped in, tangling with hers as he deepened the kiss, testing this new facet of their bond. He probed her mouth for what seemed like ages, taking time to explore every crevice, until she could barely breathe through the waves of emotions rolling within her.

After an eternity, they reluctantly pulled apart. His lips still skimmed against hers once, then again, as if he couldn't get enough of tasting her. She knew the feeling. Now that she'd tasted him, once would never be enough. Parting at last, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing in syncopation with hers, their lungs starved for oxygen. Her gaze locked with his again, his skin burning beneath his cold, wet clothes, setting hers on fire as well.

"I'm so sorry, Stella."

"I know. I'm sorry too."

"I need you," he rasped, hands still tangled in her hair. "Save me from myself."

The unveiled emotions in those simple words stabbed at her heart, but she knew that he was the only one who could make her whole again. She needed him as much as he needed her.

Slowly she moved her hands to his chest, the heat from his skin burning through his damp shirt. "I love you too," she whispered.

A smile bloomed across his face. He pressed his lips to hers again, disentangling his hands from her hair to rest them on her narrow waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself forward so that there was virtually no space between their bodies. His hand slipped under her t-shirt, setting her flesh on fire as it traced small circles on her bare back. This time, though, she deepened the kiss, nipping at his lips until they parted so she could explore.

His hand slid up her back, sending tingles through her skin and making her nerves hum ecstatically. His lips broke from hers and immediately lowered to her throat. She moaned, tilting her head to the side. Her hands went to his hair, raking through the soft dark locks, and she squeaked when he nipped gently at the thin cord of her neck. Heat pooled in her lower abdomen, rapidly intensifying with each passing moment. Mac's mouth left her throat and pressed against hers again, the urgency of his kiss leaving no doubt as to where this was going.

And she was perfectly all right with it. She wanted it. She wanted _him._ The sensation of his hands on her back, his arms embracing her, his lips caressing hers was too much. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought it would be like this, but now that it was happening, it was something surprisingly familiar. Because it was Mac, the only man she'd ever truly loved. His kiss communicated everything that was good and right about this, none of the earlier hesitation and fear. It was rational and emotional at the same time. It was like he'd found his courage because of his seemingly desperate need for her, and she felt the same way about him.

Once again, the need for oxygen became too much, and they separated just as reluctantly as before. Eyes locked once more, green against blue.

"You're not afraid, are you?" she asked, her voice husky from arousal.

Slowly he shook his head. "I've been so blind, Stella. So obstinate. All this time, we could've been happy together."

She smiled gently at him. "You're not the only one who's been blind."

"I'd really…" he stopped, his voice trailing off as he looked away. When he returned his gaze to hers, his pupils had dilated, and the blue irises had hardened to the color of the purest sapphire on the face of the earth. "I don't blame you if you're not, but…"

His careful consideration of her immediately dispelled any doubt she had about how right this was. She quickly placed a gentle, sweet kiss on his mouth, tasting the rain on his lips.

Then she took him by the hand and led him toward her bedroom.

* * *

**A/N2**: Okay, folks. The next chapter gets a little... well, steamy. It's not explicit or anything, but I'm going to up the rating to err on the side of caution. Theoretically things could end here, so if a sex scene offends you, stop here. If not, then just remember that you won't be able to find it without changing the filters! Thank you all so much for your support! Please continue to let me know what you think!


	3. Prelude to a Lifetime

**Prelude to a Lifetime**

Bolts of lightning fractured the darkness of her bedroom, appearing for a split second across the walls and then vanishing forever. Clothes whispered to the floor, swiftly forgotten as lips fused and hands explored. Breaths came with difficulty, synched with the staccato rhythm of the rain against the glass.

Lips attached to hers, Mac gently laid her back on the bed, feeling every inch of bare flesh against his as he climbed on top of her. Her warmth set him on fire, and for a moment, he wondered why he was ever afraid of this. God, he wanted her so much, so badly he could feel his desire burn in the pit of his stomach. It seemed like eons since he felt this way about anyone. No one else had awakened this kind of response in him, and he knew.

This was just a prelude to a lifetime with her. This was forever.

Once more he lowered his lips to hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth easily. His fingers teased the tender skin on her hips before skating across to her toned abdomen. One hand traveled up to the valley between her breasts, softly outlining each one. He wanted to map every inch of her, to remember what it was like to have her like this so that when those familiar feelings of fear and doubt rose, he'd know what it was he would lose. If this was how it was to love her, he wanted it to be forever.

The hurt look on her face from earlier flashed before his mind's eye again, and his grip on her waist tightened. He could never do that to her again. He _wouldn't_. She meant too much to him. He regretted his words so much it hurt. "Please, Stel," he whispered against her lips.

Stella groaned as his lips left hers to trail up her jaw then down the thin tendon of her throat. It was so much to take in at once. His evening stubble scratched lightly against her skin, lips finding that sensitive spot under her ear. Her hands threaded through his still-damp hair, making him moan with delight at the feel of her fingernails against his scalp, and then continued down his chest, lightly tracing the scar above his wildly beating heart before skimming over his still-hard abs. Entranced, she watched the muscles ripple under her fingertips, amazed she could have that kind of effect on him. She felt his whispered apology against her skin once more, and she lightly kissed the corner of his jaw, wordlessly forgiving him. He lifted his head and looked at her, his blue irises understanding, yearning. He knew. He knew that she forgave him, that she wanted him. They needed no words.

His head dropped again, and her eyes fluttered shut. Everything in her past – loneliness, Frankie, Drew – simply disappeared with the feel of his rough hands against her skin and his lips against the pulse-point on her neck. All the pain, all the sorrow, every lonely night spent wanting him was gone, dissipating with every doubt she ever had. And for the first time in a long time, she understood what it was like to be whole again.

Suddenly he pulled back, and she whimpered at the loss of his warmth. God, no. Not now, not when he was so close and she was so ready. Her eyes opened, searching his for a hint at something wrong. When she didn't see anything, she frowned. "What?"

The corner of his mouth quirked, and one of his hands rose to gently brush a curl from her forehead. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he murmured.

One of her eyebrows rose elegantly.

"I'm serious, Stel." The hand on her forehead dropped to her throat, gently touching the pulse point there. "You're so beautiful." It skimmed down to her breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and he leaned forward to press a kiss there. She moaned softly, her skin feeling like it was on fire. "Curved in all the right places." It fell to her waist, caressing her hip before traveling across to her thigh. "I want to remember you like this."

She swallowed hard and reached up to snake a hand around his neck. Slowly she pulled him down to her. "Show me," she breathed in his ear.

He grinned and kissed her hard again, worshiping the feel of her lips against his. Oh, he was fully intent on showing her just how he felt, how she made him feel. And he was going to take his time doing it. In the last eight years, he'd never been this alive, this free, this whole. Her hands left his hair and slid down to his shoulders, lightly scraping her fingernails against the skin. He groaned against her lips. God, she was going to be the death of him. Or she would be his life. Whichever one it was, he didn't really care.

No. Once wouldn't be enough.

His rough hands, calloused from years of the bass guitar and the Marines, caressed Stella's inner thigh, and she shivered. He wasn't moving fast enough, not for ten years of frustration. Growling softly, she grabbed his hand to guide it toward the heat between her legs. But he was stronger than she, and moving with the speed of a lightning bolt, his hand wriggled out of her grip, grasped her wrist, and pinned it to the mattress above her head. Rendered completely helpless, she looked up at him wide-eyed.

Mac just smiled at her almost wickedly, and she felt herself grow even hotter. "Patience, Stel," he murmured.

"Not my strong point, Mac." She raised her head just a little so that her lips hovered above his ear and whispered, "I want you."

A soft moan emitted from his throat, and she smirked. When his eyes met hers, they were cobalt with arousal. "Slow," he said, his voice husky, although she could hear his breathing quicken. Despite her impatience, she understood. Now that this was happening, he wanted it to count. And she was okay with that.

So she nodded deliberately. "Slow."

Before she really comprehended what was happening, his free hand skimmed down the curve of her waist to her center. His thumb found her sensitive nub and methodically stroked it, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. He slipped a calloused finger into her, and her head fell back against the mattress, eyes drifting closed on their own. He released her hands, and they fell forward to fist against his back. Stella felt him gently kiss his way down to the soft curve of skin under her navel. He nipped at the flesh there before soothing it with his tongue, and she moaned.

He slipped another finger into her, and her body automatically arched off the bed. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, feeling like a coil was being wound tighter and tighter in her belly as release approached. Apparently he could tell, because he quickened the tempo of his fingers within her, responding to her ever increasing moans. In the midst of her haze of pleasure, she could feel his lips travel back up her body to her breast, latching onto one of them.

And that was it for her. She came in a rush, his name tumbling from her lips, her hips bucking against his hand. Her vision blurred, and she soared.

Mac watched her carefully as she floated back down, caressing her cheek, waiting patiently for her to recover. He'd wanted to watch her in her bliss, engraving the image into his memory. It nearly blew his mind, how she could be so strong yet so vulnerable like this. Gratitude welled up in him at how much she trusted him with everything she had. This was his chance at something meaningful. How he'd ever thought he wanted to escape something like that, he'd never know.

Things were going to change. But for the better.

Her eyelids opened slowly and met his. The emerald orbs were a little glassy from her release. Gently he smiled at her. "Hi."

Shakily she returned his smile. "Hi. What happened to slow?"

Mac chuckled softly and stroked her face. "Are you okay?"

Her smile widened, and she nodded. "I'm… wonderful. Absolutely wonderful, Mac." She glanced down at his now throbbing manhood, and a quirk appeared at the corner of her mouth. "But I don't think you are."

A swift retort was on the tip of his tongue, but then she reached down and touched him with one slim finger. All that escaped him was a groan. "Stel," he growled softly.

"I want you," she repeated. "All of you."

Mac glanced down at her again. Her eyes had darkened again to the deepest shade of green he'd ever seen, burning with desire and love. But he had to be certain. "Are you sure?"

Her smile widened even more, if that were possible. This was the Mac she'd missed, the passionate and caring man she'd first fallen for so many years before. He was so careful with her, and she loved him all the more for that.

So in answer, she held out her arms to him. "C'mere," she whispered.

A grin blossomed across his face, and he leaned down to kiss her. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, and she spread her legs, letting him settle between them. Large hands cradled her hips as he readied himself, and his gaze locked with hers. Oh, yes. Things were going to change. For the better.

Then came that slow, hot push, and with a long moan, he sank into her warmth. She was so hot and wet and tight around him, and it almost made him lose it right then and there. But he held it together, summoning every ounce of control he had. This was for her. She deserved it, and so much more. Waiting for her to adjust, he glanced at her face. Her eyes were closed and her head was thrown back against the pillow, and he decided in that moment that it had to be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Stella opened her eyes against the flood of sensations rushing through her, and her eyes met his again. "Is this okay?" he rasped.

She wanted to say it was more than okay, but all she could do was nod.

"I love you," he whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and a wide smile spread over her face. "I love you too."

Slowly he started to move, and Stella lifted her head to press her lips to his. He was so hard within her, above her, around her, shielding her from whatever would come her way, gently and passionately loving her with everything he had. She'd always thought that if this ever happened, it wouldn't quite be as good as she imagined it, because fantasy was always better than the real thing. Now, however, she decided that she'd been dead wrong. This put every fantasy she'd ever had to utter shame.

He drove her just to that crest and then let her back down again, creating the wildest roller coaster of emotion and pleasure she'd ever been on. Occasionally he dropped kisses onto her cheeks or her lips, his moans vibrating through her body. He nuzzled her neck, nipping softly at the flesh there, and her fingers alternated between raking through his hair and fisting against his back. Her breaths came in short gasps, panting for precious oxygen but unwilling to stop the sweet torture he was putting her through. Hands roamed her body, her pelvis rising to meet his, and for the first time in her life she understood the meaning of making love. Before it had just been sex. But this… this was deeper, better.

Time flew by, accompanied by the sound of steady cacophony of rain and their mingled gasps and moans. They explored each other slowly, discovering little things about each other that lay dormant throughout their friendship. But soon her body was crying out for release, and she couldn't take much more. That coil wound itself tighter and tighter in her belly, and it was driving her insane. She felt his lips on her neck, and she turned her head just a little so that the tip of her nose brushed against his ear. "Mac," she whispered. "Please."

At that simple word filled with so much meaning, his glazed eyes met hers. The corner of his mouth tilted up. "Hang on," he murmured.

His hand slid around her slender waist to her back, pulling her body flush against his. The other found hers, sliding up her arm and entwining their fingers, pressing them into the mattress. And finally he lowered his lips to hers in a searing kiss. He drove her steadily toward release, and she groaned against his lips, wrapping her free arm around his neck and her legs around his waist.

One in everything – in heart, in mind, in body, in soul. God, she loved him, and she knew he loved her.

She could've easily count down to the exact moment she found her release, but when she finally crashed over the precipice, it made her literally see stars. Her vision smashed to white as the coil snapped inside her, sending a flood of pleasure rushing over her. Every coherent thought fled her brain, and all she could feel was him over her, in her.

Mac felt her clench and seize around him, and that was enough. He lost control at last, and with a final thrust forward and a low grunt, he emptied himself into her. His vision blurred, and blood pounded against his eardrums as he called her name in ecstasy. Collapsing on top of her, his head fell to her breast while he remembered how to breathe.

Through the haze of pleasure, he felt her hand softly stroking up and down his spine, soothing him like she always did. Breaths still coming raggedly, he lifted his head with great difficulty. Blue locked with green, and she smiled. He couldn't help but return it. They'd just done what he thought was impossible, and his heart swelled with the love he had for her. It was just a prelude. Just the beginning.

Stella groaned softly as he withdrew from her. But then he enveloped her in his strong arms and rolled onto his back, settling her on top of his slick chest. She burrowed into his side, letting one hand trail up and down his arm, feeling the sinews ripple under her touch. His hand, which was wrapped around her shoulders, traveled up to her sweaty curls, tenderly combing through them with his fingers.

They lay there in silence for a while, letting their breathing calm and listening to the steady pounding of rain against her window. Suddenly she felt him shift beneath her, and she glanced up at him, eyes gracing the strong line of his jaw. His eyes were slowly returning to their usual slate-blue, but she could see that something had changed. Something had changed, and it was good.

"Hi," he said with a wide grin.

She giggled softly and kissed his chest. "Hi."

"That was…" His voice trailed off, and he frowned, frustrated at his loss of words. "That was…"

"Yeah, me too," she said hastily, her grin widening. "Thank you."

He smiled and leaned over to kiss her tenderly. Stella shifted a little, wrapping her legs and arms around him. He chuckled softly, moving his hand to run absently up and down her arm. "I'm not going anywhere, Stel."

Sighing, she tightened her embrace. "I know. You make a good pillow."

Mac's laugh rumbled through her cheek, and she grinned. "Nice to know I'm good for something."

"Mmm. I think you proved that you're good for a lot more than that."

He laughed again and kissed the top of her head. A comfortable quiet settled over them as they lay there together, broken only by the soft pitter-patter of water against the window. The rain had slowed considerably, and Stella listened to the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear.

Mac shifted beneath her suddenly, and she looked up at him. "What is it?" she asked.

"Just thinking."

She searched his eyes for a moment, reading the nearly latent concern there. "About the lab? What we'll tell everyone?"

He nodded, his grip on her shoulder tightening. "There's just a lot to figure out."

"I know." She let her words hang for a moment, biting her bottom lip. She didn't think he would back out on her now. His eyes held no regrets, no hesitation. But he took his position of authority very seriously, and a relationship (because it was far more than just sleeping together) with a subordinate held the potential to cause problems.

Suddenly she yawned, and Mac glanced down at her. She was exhausted, and he knew it. "You know, we don't have to deal with it tonight."

"Mac, you're worried about this. Are you sure?"

He kissed her hair tenderly and let his hand trail up and down her back. "Absolutely. Sleep, Stel. We'll talk about this in the morning."

She snuggled against him, yawning once more. "I love you, Mac," she murmured sleepily.

He smiled, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "I love you too."

Her eyes fluttered closed, and within moments, her breathing evened out. He laid there for a moment, gently stroking her back as she slept. She was so strong, so self-assured, yet he knew her heart was fragile. But she'd placed it in his hands with no hesitation. The faith she had in him empowered him, and her touch had healed the scars on his soul.

But he was worried about this getting out. Despite how much he loved her, a relationship with a subordinate had its problems, especially where Sinclair was concerned. The man had been after his job for years, and though he knew she wasn't concerned about it, he loved his job. But now that they'd done what they'd done…

If it was a question of whether to give up his job or her, he would take her without hesitation. She made him whole.

That was the final thought to cross his mind before his eyes slowly closed, unable to fight a restless sleep any longer.

*****

A thin finger of morning light crept through the window, its warmth gently caressing Mac's face. Groaning against the intrusion, he reluctantly opened one eye, scanning his surroundings. The rain from the previous night had disappeared, and a warm summer sun had broken through the remaining clouds. A few drops of water still hugged the window, the only reminder of the refreshing downpour from the night before. His eyes traveled around the room, slowly taking in the strange décor. Instead of the beige walls of his bedroom, these walls were a soft green, decorated with pictures of a familiar-looking exotic island. The sweet scent of coconut clung to the sheets. Stella's scent.

Faintly a smile appeared on his face. His hand automatically went to the other side of the bed, but it was met with cold sheets. His other eye opened immediately, and sure enough, she was nowhere to be found. He sat up quickly and listened for some sound: water running, footsteps in the hall, anything to tell him where she was.

But he heard neither. Instead, soft humming wafted into the bedroom from out in the living room, accompanied by a strange popping. Less than a second later, the smell of cooking bacon reached his nostrils, and he smiled. She was cooking him breakfast.

Mac reached down and grabbed his boxers and undershirt off the floor. Throwing the covers back, he donned the clothes and got up. He yanked the door open and slowly padded out into the living room.

And suddenly stopped short.

Stella stood in the kitchen in front of the stove, humming quietly as she flipped over some pieces of bacon. She was wearing his dress shirt from the night before, and it hung to her mid-thigh like a short skirt, leaving her tanned legs open to his very appreciative gaze. Her curls, mussed from sleep, softly touched her shoulders.

It was such a rare display of domesticity, and it was without a doubt the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. The woman who had been his best friend and was now his lover had him completely under her spell. And the crazy thing about it was that he was entirely okay with that.

Silently he tiptoed into the kitchen as she continued cooking, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Just as he came close enough to touch her, she said, "Good morning."

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Mmm, I'm a woman. I have eyes in the back of my head."

"I'll remember that," he replied, kissing the back of her neck. She tilted her head to the side to give him better access, and his lips followed the thin tendon up to her jaw.

She giggled suddenly, and he stopped. "What?"

"You need to shave." Stella twisted in his arms and kissed his lips gently. "You didn't get much sleep last night, did you?"

Again, it was much more a statement than a query. "I slept all right."

Glaring at him warningly, she frowned. "Mac."

He sighed and released her. Taking a couple of steps back, he leaned against the table and raked a hand through his hair. "I was just thinking. About last night, and us, and the lab."

A shadow passed over her face as she reached over to turn off the burner, and he hastened to reassure her. "Stella, last night was absolutely perfect. Better than I ever imagined. I regret absolutely none of it, and I want you to know that."

The worry in her eyes disappeared, replaced by comprehension. "You're worried about everyone's reaction."

Mac nodded, grateful she understood. Now that they'd found each other, he never wanted to lose her. "The team won't have a problem with it, I don't think."

Stella chuckled. "They'll be ecstatic about it."

Mac grinned despite himself. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely. You should've seen the look on Flack's face that one morning we got to the lab at the same time and came in together."

"You're kidding."

She shook her head. "Not at all. And Lindsay's been hinting at something for the last couple of weeks."

He grinned, but it faltered quickly. "Yeah, well, Sinclair's another story."

She frowned. "You've saved his ass enough times to where this shouldn't even be a question."

"True. But everything's a question with him, especially when it comes to me. He's more concerned with looking good for the mayor than he is about law enforcement."

He looked at her for a moment, determination shining in his eyes. "I'm not letting you go, Stella. Now that…" his voice trailed off, and he averted his eyes for just a moment before catching her eye once again. When he spoke again, his voice cracked with emotion and sincerity. "I meant what I said earlier. I love you."

Stella smiled gently at him. "I love you too," she whispered.

Mac sighed again. "I just… I don't know what to do."

A tense silence pressed down on them, and they stared at one another thoughtfully. Suddenly her green eyes lit up. "We don't have to tell anyone yet."

For a moment, he wasn't sure if he'd heard her correctly. He stared at her, surprised. It seemed like too simple a solution. "We don't?"

Stella shook her head, smiling coyly. "We don't."

"I don't want to keep us a secret."

"Neither do I. But we don't have to broadcast it yet, do we? If something happens to come up, we can deal with the consequences then. We have time to figure out what we need to do about this. What Sinclair doesn't know won't hurt him."

Mac thought about it. His brow furrowed for a moment. He hadn't thought of that. It was so simplistic, yet so logical, and he wasn't quite sure what to think of it. He'd been so concerned about what Sinclair would think, but was that fear really necessary?

Suddenly he smiled. She was absolutely right. Sinclair never had to know until they got to the point of making it permanent, which he fully intended on doing. But by then, thousands of things had the potential to change. It wasn't much hope... discovery was still quite a possibility. But he wasn't about to risk losing her. She was his last chance. And after last night, he was fully prepared to take the consequences if it meant being with her. Still smiling, he stepped forward to place his hands on her slender waist, drawing her closer to him, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She returned his smile, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I have faith in you, Mac. Have faith in us."

"You always did have faith in me."

"And you've never let me down." She leaned up to kiss him. "Whatever happens, we're together in this. All the way."

He grinned and leaned down to kiss her again, this time a little deeper. Pulling back a little, he caressed her face with one finger. "I might have trouble keeping my hands off you at the lab."

Stella laughed. green eyes twinkling. "We'll just have to figure something else out, won't we?"

"I think I'll like that." He pressed his lips to hers before she could retort. Her mouth opened to him on a sigh, and he easily slid his tongue in, dueling with hers. Arousal sang through his veins like heroin, her kiss making him dizzy. Breakfast was quickly and easily forgotten as they lost themselves in each other. For the thousandth time, he wondered how he could've ever been afraid of this.

Moments passed, and eventually they pulled away from lack of precious oxygen. Eyes twinkling, she smiled at him. "If you keep that up, you'll never get home and get changed, and then we'll really be late."

"Okay." His fingers reached for the buttons on the shirt she wore. "But if I don't get my shirt back, I'm gonna look really strange hailing a cab in my underwear."

She grinned seductively and kissed him. "You'll have to get it back yourself."

Mac chuckled and suddenly lifted her into his arms, smiling at her surprised squeal. "Deal," he whispered as he carried her back to her bedroom and swiftly kicked the door shut behind him. Now, it was just her and him. And that was more than enough.

_Finis_.

**A/N:** *blushes* I have never, ever written a scene like that before, and I swear, it was the hardest thing I've ever written (no pun intended)! Seriously, it took me weeks! So what did you think? I'm sorry if it was too sappy, but I wanted it to be more than just the simple act for them, and I wanted to make that distinction between a fling and what would become a lifetime commitment for them. I hope I conveyed that. Thank you all for your reviews and encouragement so far... you're all amazing. As always, please let me know what you think!


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